


Once Every Year

by crescentjack



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dins actually a softy who’d have thunk, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Snow festival!, a lot of it, dashed in, this is gonna be quite a chill ride, with some
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28383639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crescentjack/pseuds/crescentjack
Summary: “When the first snow falls, there’s a fortnight of celebration and a festival. It’s a tradition.” Omera explains. “Today is the last day.”“I should’ve waited-““Your arrival was a gift. They love you here.”—-Din returning to Sorgan becomes an annual event.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera
Comments: 24
Kudos: 88





	1. The Return

“It’s the Mandalorian!” A boy screams out from the clearing, earning himself whoops and cries from the pack of children. Synchronised, they take off sprinting and scrambling for a vantage point- a better view. They tumble past and under the legs of other residents, who chat under the stars and warm their hands on hot, sweet beverages.

Somewhere, a mother calls out to be careful on the snow that lay thick over Sorgan like a duvet. How the boy spotted anything in the dark sky baffles Winta, who stands frozen at the announcement. 

She tips her chin up to the sky, the familiar silhouette of the ship visible only against the stars highlighting it. With a distant rumble, the Razor Crest disappears to land within the trees- a little way from their village border.

“Mama,” She stammers out, then, more urgently, “Mama!”

Mistaking Winta’s tone for anguish, Omera pushes her way out of the tent with furrowed brows and wide eyes. “What is it?” She says, perturbed. 

Her attention is stolen by the group of children that stand by the fence- hollering and cheering. Even some elders have followed.

Winta hops from foot to foot, shivering even with her scarf and numerous layers of clothing. “They’re back.” 

The words knock the air from Omera’s lungs, her eyes focused on the treeline. She holds out her hand and Winta grasps it, tight. 

Composed once more, Omera nods. “Well, let’s give them a warm welcome.” 

Winta beams and drags her mother to where the others are waiting. Omera breaks off just before the crowd, hands stuffed in her pockets and breath tumbling out in clouds in the cold air. She smiles at Winta warmly, “Go ahead, I’ll be here.” 

——

Din hasn’t seen the greens and lushes of Sorgan for months. Maybe over a year.

Definitely over a year. 

He hears yells coming from the village in front of him, and his hands grasp for his gun until he realises it’s not the bad kind of noise. It’s excitement. The happy kind of noise. 

Grogu babbles in his arm, tucked close next to his chest to the point where his ears fold against the beskar plating there. Din rocks him in a meek attempt to soothe his own nerves. His heart is in his throat as he ducks under some last foliage, and in front of him stands a crowd of the village people. It sends him back to when he first visited. 

“Mandalorian!” Someone refers to him, stepping forward and grasping his shoulder. “Good to see you.” 

Another villager, a small boy, matches his stride and leans close to Grogu, “He’s grown so much!” 

Din can’t tell, but he’s probably right. He’s had the kid for a while, now.

“Mando!” 

Winta. She darts forward until her confidence falters and she skids to a stop. She grins, and Din notes one of her canines is missing. “We all missed you.” 

The pause that follows reminds him he hasn’t spoken yet. “I-“ He starts, then curses internally. “It’s good to be back.” 

Everyone cheers before bustling him forward. His eyes widen when he recognises Omera a little ahead of him. His armour clanks at his abrupt halt, and Grogu lets out a curious chirp.

“Omera.” His voice is thick. 

“Hello, Mandalorian. Pleasant night.” Omera says and gestures to the sky. Her voice is light with amusement. 

“I like the night.” Din replies dumbly. 

“It is mysterious and beautiful.” 

“Yes.” He shuffles. “I’m sorry I-“

He freezes when she crouches to rub Grogu’s cheeks. He lets out a squeal of happiness, reaching for her and she grins, “He seems happy. He's grown.” 

“Yes, I- We’re having a break.”

“And you chose Sorgan? We’re honoured.” 

“I’m sorry about the short notice.”

“Don't be.” She stands tall once more. “I’ll get your old place ready.”

Din nods, grateful as she steps back and away. The crowd blocks her from view quickly enough and Din clears his thoughts with a quick shake of his head. 

“Can I hold him?” Winta asks.

Din pauses, thoughtful, then lowers Grogu so she can wrap her hands around him. She grins up at him, and realising he can’t return the favour, he nods instead. 

—- 

“When the first snow falls, there’s a fortnight of celebration and a festival. It’s a tradition.” Omera explains. “Today is the last day.”

“I should’ve waited-“

“Your arrival was a gift. They love you here.” Omera reassures the mandalorian, who sits tapping his finger on their shared table. 

He’s keeping a subtle eye out on the kid, under the helmet, she can tell. His head tips and angles to him and Winta playing every so often and she smiles quietly. 

When he doesn’t reply, she adds, “Believe me, you're like a hero.” 

“I’m not- that.” He says, not unkindly. One last tap and he drags his hand back to his side. “You all paid for my help. So I supplied.” 

Omera hums thoughtfully. 

Then, she decides to flip the topic- “What have you been up to? This last year?” 

“Traveling. Trying to fix up bounties, mostly.” 

“How’s that going?” 

A half shrug, “Not half bad.” 

She feels a weight lift off her chest. Nodding, she follows his gaze to the kids playing, now in a larger group. 

“His name is Grogu.” Mando struggles out. 

Hoping the way her eyes widen isn’t too noticeable, she beams, “You named him?” 

“No. I- found out.” 

“It suits him.” 

She focuses back on her food, finishing the last scraps. She felt warm with all the meals she’d relished in this week. Usually, she’d settle for one big supper in the afternoon after working. She’d cook and eat alongside Winta, then sleep with a full stomach. If she was too busy or tired to cook, the community had meals provided outside as a constant- a variety of krill dishes, but most often stews and pies. 

Currently, in the brittle weather, the pots and dishes and meals were served in a big tent. It was lit dim inside, but cosy. With room for the kids to play and a wide open door so the campfire was visible. 

Today, more dishes and variants were put out as a tribute of sorts. For both the last day of celebrations and the Mandalorians return. 

Omera wonders why exactly he needed or wanted a break. Mandalorians weren’t really known for slowing down for anyone. 

“So this festival..” Mando starts and Omera blinks up at him. 

She waits till she’s swallowed her mouthful before realising he doesn’t know how to finish his sentence, so she jumps in. “Everyone enjoys the break. It’s good - and it’s not like we can work the farms in this weather.”

“Are you okay? Getting by?” 

She nods, “When we can’t farm the ponds we get by on savings and milk from our other animals.” 

“That’s good.” He nods, and she swears she hears him breath out a sigh, posture relaxing. 

Not for the first time, she wonders what he’s feeling. If he’s as good at concealing it under the mask as he is with it on. 

——

Omeras lodging hasn’t changed since the last time Din bombarded it. There are more sheets and covers, both on his own bed and in Grogu’s crib, along with extra layers over the windows. Even so, Din feels familiarity wash over him in a wave. 

“Ah.” Grogu says, and Din ducks down to put him on the floor.

As soon as his feet touch the ground, he slowly begins to waddle and explore the room. 

Din wriggles his rifle off his back, followed by his holsters, and places everything beside his bed. “You warm enough, kid?” 

“Boh.” 

“Good,” He glances over his shoulder, watches Grogu try and grapple his way up the crib. “Tired?”

“Bah.” He lifts him up once more, to wrap him in some sheets. Instead of placing him back down, he keeps him close. Gently rocking him, he wanders aimlessly around the room, murmuring quietly. 

This tactic, he learnt a while ago, sends the boy right into a deep sleep. Not to mention he spent the majority of the day concerned for him. His weight is reassuring in his arms. Maybe he doesn’t handle being away from his boy well, he’s aware- He can work on it later. 

He fails to note Omera stood waiting close by the door, and spins to face her when she clears her throat. Shoulders tense, he waits for her to speak. 

“I brought you supper,” She finally does, setting down the tray quietly. 

“Thanks,” He replies, flustered, “It means a lot.” 

“I brought a little something for Grogu, too, in case he’s still peckish.” 

“He always is,” Din speaks fondly. “Thank you.” 

“He’s a growing boy.” 

Again, Din finds himself wondering if he really has grown as much as people comment. He’s still so small, bundled and sleeping in his arms. He smiles, under the helmet. He rocks him again, “It seems like yesterday.” 

“Sorry?” 

“It seems like yesterday since I-“ Saved wasn’t really the right term, he realises with a wince, “Got him. Found him. I forget how much time has passed since then.” 

Omera blinks, he almost misses the way her eyes widen before she smiles. “You never mentioned that before- how you met.”

“It’s not a pleasant story.”

“It turned out okay, though. You both seem to get along just fine.” 

He stares at her. Then looks down at Grogu, who mumbles in his sleep. He’s still subconsciously rocking him, he realises. “You’re not wrong.” 

He gently lowers him into the crib, tucking him in. Omera hasn’t spoken, but he hears her take a step back so he speaks fast and quiet, “He was a bounty.” 

She stops, he continues, “I was given a good reward to take him to these people. Bad people. Bad people that wanted him for bad stuff.”

“And you kept him?” 

Din doesn’t speak for a moment. “I gave him up, first. I gave him up and tried not to think about it.”

“Then you thought about it a lot.” 

He nods, “And went to get him back.” He looks to her finally, “I couldn’t leave him there.” 

Her features soften. “You made a mistake-“

He snorts dryly.

“-You made a big mistake. And then you fixed it. Sometimes that’s all anyone can do.”

He lets out a long sigh and rolls his shoulders. “I know.”

—— 

“You have to stay still, otherwise it might fall and that wouldn’t be the best.” 

Omera watches Winta balance a flower crown on the Mandalorians helmet and wonders how this man is part of a creed so dangerous the universe knows it’s name. 

The flowers are all white and shades of blue, frosted and tinged with silver. The crown is the most exotic part of the festival- many of the townspeople weave them over baskets to occupy their usually working hands and channel the festive spirit. 

It’s a quiet, pretty charm symbolising celebration and rest, and now a mercenary wears it on top of a helmet worn for protection and strict code. 

Omera smiles. 

“It _just_ fits,” Winta nods, “You're welcome.” 

Mando jerks, like he means to nod, then remembers he can’t without endangering the precious garland. 

“I want to make Mando a crown,” A younger boy wails. 

“Maybe a flower necklace,” Another supplies.

“Not both, that’d be too much.” 

“Maybe we can combine them!” Winta offers, and Omeras chest swells with pride. “Weave them together so it’s huge!”

Mandos shoulders droop.

Grogu claps his hands and lets out a long snort like he finds his fathers obvious discomfiture hilarious. On top of his tiny head is a matching gauntlet that’s lopsided and almost covering his eyes. 

Omera wishes she could capture this moment forever, store it deep in her memories. 

“Looking good, Mandalorian!” A man calls from across the clearing. 

“Thank you.” He returns, bravely.

The kids cheer. 

——

Snow falling often reminds Din of ash. 

He tries to not let it bother him. It's hard when simple things, regular events, stir up his memories like a flame in an engine. 

When he focuses on the floor when snow lands, he pictures red fabric and ringing ears. When it drops onto his outstretched hands, he feels younger. Vulnerable. 

He needs something to do. He’s not used to taking breaks and he’s not used to relaxing. He’s grown out of it- trained out of it. He constantly fidgets and shifts, now that he’s been here a couple of days. He’s grateful, immensely, for everything the creed has done for him, but they didn’t prepare him for mundane days. Right now, he’s going to use what they gave him.

Grogu tugs at his cape, meekly, and Din ducks beside him, pats his back. “Hey, kid. Wanna practise?” 

—— 

Spear in his grip, he makes quick work of a tree deep in the forest. It’s fallen and cracked and torso-level, so Din finds it a perfect target for practise. 

A bit away, Grogu scoops up snow and leaves and creates miniature mountains. 

He hasn’t practised without reason since he was a teen, he realises. And he hasn’t trained alone since even longer than that. Sparring in the creed was common, fighting trees was not. 

He kicks up some snow as he twists and drives the blade into the bark with a grunt. A push, and it carves deeper. The sound of beskar metal rings familiar and echoes through the trees like water. 

His skin is damp under his armour and clothes, and he swears he sees a drop hanging from his eyelashes under the helmet, too. Grogu babbles, and Din returns his spear from the target with a hearty tug before looking down. The boy clings to his leg and, with difficulty, perches on his foot. 

Din blinks, then lets out a soft chuckle. “What about you, huh? What about your powers?” 

He scoops him up and wipes down a tree stub with his cape before setting Grogu down on top. “We can work on it. Here-“ 

Crouching in the snow, he grabs a small twig and twiddles it in his finger, “You want it?” 

Grogu stares, eyes impossibly big and pleading. 

“Take it, bud.” 

His tiny hands stretch out, and he lets out a whine that Din has come to understand as ‘please’. 

“You can do it, c’mon, Grogu.” 

His eyes scrunch up in that familiar concentration look, preparing to take it. Dins chest swells and he loosens his grip on the twig ready-

When a yowl rings out. 

He stiffens, Grogu grunts. The boy is back in the crook of his left arm, spear tight in the right in record speed as he scans the trees. Klatooinian raiders, Din knows before he sees them. 

He sets off, not particularly liking the fact the kid has to come with him- head first into danger- but he’d rather have him in sight than alone. His footsteps crunch in the snow as he sets off towards the yells.

It takes him under a minute. 

In a clearing, he recognises two villagers- Stoke and Caben- and two opposing raiders. They duck behind their cart, and Din feels his throat tighten. He lifts the spear and aims, ready to take down a raiders in quick succession, then halts when shots hit them- straight in the chest. They go down. 

Din looks to Stoke and Caben, who clutch the responsible pistols. They smoke and cut through the snow. 

Stoke looks over to Din, and waves a hand out. “Mando!” 

Din lowers his spear, awkwardly. Stepping down from the slight hill he was on. He approaches them, but only looks when he’s sure the raiders won’t get back up. 

“You're like- drawn to action, huh?” Caben chirps, friendly. 

“There’s still raiders bothering you?” Din grunts. 

“Nothing too serious,” Stoke says. “A couple show up, throughout the months we struggle.”

“But we can handle them now,” Caben adds. He’s twiddling with his pistol and Din lifts his hand to shield Grogu. The kid whines.

“I can see that.” Din nods towards the two raiders who are already being covered by snow. “You learnt to shoot.” 

“Omera gives lessons to those who guard the village and leave on transport trips.” 

Dins eyebrows lift, under his helmet. “They must be going well.” 

“It’s just a shame we still have to use ‘em.” Stoke places his pistol back into the cart.

“Look out-!” 

A twig cracks behind Din, and he spins. His body works faster than his mind. He trusts it, from eyes to fingertip. 

He rears the spear back and launches it. 

It hits the raider with the thud, and he goes down unceremoniously. His pistol drops into the snow, and Din picks it up and wipes it before handing it over to Stoke. 

“That should be the last of them?” He looks between them both.

Their expressions had turned grim, but they nod. “We’re heading back, now, anyway.” 

“I’ll walk with you,” Din offers. 

He tugs the spear from the body, and it comes free a lot easier than it did the tree bark. 

——-

“You had a run in with raiders?” Winta asks, stepping from foot to foot. 

Grogu is cradled and swaddled in her arms, face scrunched up when her hair tickles his head. Din sits on the edge of his bed. 

“They attacked a wagon, heading back.” Din explains. 

Her eyes are wide. It’s almost comical, “Did you save them?” 

“No- they had it handled.” 

She nods, confident. “They work hard.” 

Din knows he shouldn’t. He's prying, but he’s impressed and curious all at once. “Your mother taught them?”

“Yeah. She’s the best at shooting since you and Cara left.” 

Din leans forward, fingers entwine.

“I heard her say once you never forgot how to shoot if you do it for long enough.” 

Din thinks. Imagines a time and a place where he fumbles with confusion over the safety and hesitates to pull the trigger. “I think she’s right.”

“She wants everyone to be safe. Even if she doesn’t like doing it.” Winta nods, looking thoughtful. “Are you hungry? Ma sent me to ask if you were hungry.” 

Din isn’t, but Grogu’s ears perk up at the mention of a meal. Biting his lip, Din nods, “Let’s grab some, shall we?”

—- 

The mandalorian stays for roughly a week before Omera notices him packing up his gear and fastening his holsters. He’d spent the night before absent. She realises it was probably dedicated to preparing for departure. 

She ignores the way smiling seems a little harder, and how her throat feels tight. 

It reminds her of last time she said goodbye. They’re located at the edge of the forest- everyone else had bowed their heads and spoken their goodbyes already.

Omera didn’t find it that easy, not that she’d let it show so selfishly. “You and your boy stay safe, you hear?” 

“Loud and clear,” Mando confirms with a strong nod of his head. 

“Good. I couldn’t help but be concerned for you both, last time.”

He snorts, so she narrows her eyes, smiling, “What? It’s motherly instincts. You can’t tell me you haven’t gotten more paranoid since taking in Grogu.” 

The mandalorian stays quiet. Then, “Well- maybe.” 

She laughs, and places a hand on his arm loosely. Pretending she doesn’t notice the fact he leans into it, she says, “I know you’ll protect him well.” 

He nods, “Until next time.” 

“Until next time.”

She waits in her same spot- perched on the fencing. 

She stays long after the Razor Crest soaks into the skyline and disappears. Stays long enough that said sky grows dark, and moons rise. She stretches and starts her walk back home through the snow. 

She hopes to see the mandalorian and his boy again, but refuses to yearn for it. That’d tear her apart.


	2. The Alliance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: This chapter has canon-typical creature death
> 
> This got a whole lot more action crammed into it then I expected this chapter to have,

Omera spends the morning picking plants, fruits and flowers from the forest. She has a basket, heaping with content before the weather gets too cold to be wandering around all day. Winta lingers nearby, calling out excitedly whilst she attacks an invisible enemy with a small stick. 

Omera keeps a watchful eye out. Even though the raiders don’t bother individuals, and the forests they share are huge, there’s another problem to consider. Right now, she's focusing on the fruits she’s collected- thinking of how she can use them to make drinks other than spotchka and maybe some meals. The children always like to grab the flowers and spread them around. The tents and homes of their village will be decorated and framed with petals by tonight, she reckons. 

Back in the village, they’re already preparing a feast. Some of the community even visited town to grab specialities they can’t collect themselves. 

It’s that time of the year again, now Sorgan just needs the snow. 

“Ma?” Winta takes a break from attacking the air. “Can you use a bow and arrow?” 

This has been the latest talk, recently. Winta had grown a keen interest in transport and more concerningly (for Omera) the weapons and defence side of the job. 

“I can.” Omera isn’t a liar. She tucks the towel over the basket before grabbing the handle and standing. “Are you ready to go?” 

“Can you show me how to?”

“Maybe when you’re older.” 

“But I'm already getting old.” 

Omera laughs, “Then what does that make me?” 

Winta flails as she drags her feet after her mother. “Please? I just think they’re cool. I heard someone saying we could hunt with-“

“You’re shivering.” 

Winta opens her arms out, “It’s cold.” 

Omera reaches out for Winta and drags her close under her cloak, before kissing the top of her head. “I promise you, when you’re older, we can discuss this properly.” 

“That’s not a no.” 

Omera smiles, “No, it’s not. But it’s not a yes, either.” 

“I’m gonna get a bow and arrow.” Winta whisper-sings.

Omera picks up the pace after that. Both as an escape from the conversation, and because the temperature drops fast when the sun starts to go down.

They walk through the thick brambles and tall trees, and enter the more open areas. The trees space apart.

Wintas hand tightens around Omeras, and they both see her at the same time.

“Razor Crest!” Winta chirps.

And she’s right. Sleeping in one of the open areas is the Crest, the last of the sun casting orange onto the metal like fire. Omera has never seen it up close. She’s not sure how she didn’t hear them arrive. 

Winta runs forward so fast Omera has to recover quickly so she doesn’t slip. Jogging after her, she knows the ships vacated. No sounds of an engine purring and no response when Winta jumps to knock on the hatch. 

“They came back,” Winta grins, dragging her hand across the worn metal. 

Omeras stomach leaps, and this time she can’t help but smile. “They did.” 

——

Like the year she saw him last, she lets out a long shaky breath before going forward. “Mando.” 

She watches his head tip, she’s come to realise, in recognition. “Omera.” 

She’s missed his voice, “We missed you.” 

“I said until next time,” Mando says and she pats his arm, just under the shoulder plate. 

“Where’s Grogu?” 

Mando gestures behind him, to a group of kids and some mothers cooing over the small child. Winta waves to them and bursts into a fit of giggles. 

“He’s popular,” Omera grins. 

“You don’t have to tell me that.” Mando speaks softly. 

She gives Winta a prompt forward, an invitation, until she’s amongst the gathering. She can hear Grogu’s excited exchange with her from where she stands with Mando. He chuckles, and her chest stutters because of it. 

“How’s Cara been keeping?” She asks.

“She’s doing well, from last I've seen. Cleaning up Nevarro. Doing a good job of it, too.”

She nods, “I know the place. Good for her.” 

If a helmet could look surprised, she knows, this would be it. She turns, “I have to show you something.”

——-

Omera has renovated the entirety of Din’s annual hut. He ducks to step inside, and immediately halts at the realisation. 

“Winta helped me with the crib,” Omera says. 

Din looks over to see and, sure enough, the makeshift crib it once was is no longer. The wood had been refurbished into something more solid, the bedding fit the size like it was made for it. It was newly painted, like some other elements of the room, a reddish brown. 

At Dins' silence, Omera falters, “It was a side project we decided on. This place is spare, anyway, so it really needed doing. The crib- We figured it’d be nice if you ever did come back.” 

Din’s still stood, tense in the doorway. When he makes a small step in, his hand goes to run his hand over a painted beam. “You’re too kind.” 

He hopes he sounds as sincere as he feels, and Omeras features softening tell him he succeeded. 

“I’m just kind enough. Do you have anything that needs bringing in?” 

“Just myself and Grogu.”

Her eyes flicker to his back, to his absent rifle. “You travel lightly.” 

“I don’t have many belongings that belong in a place like this,” He winces at his own words.

“That makes sense.” Omera says, and her smile is quiet but true. 

When she goes to pass him, she goes on her tiptoes to hold his shoulder. “You need food and drinks and cheer, tonight. You made it just in time.” 

——-

 _In time_ was right.

The snow falls the same night, and Din has never felt warmer in the cold. 

—— 

He steps outside when Grogu starts wriggling furiously in his arms. He rocks him automatically and catches himself flinching when he hears a scream. 

Happy screams.

He still has to get used to that. Pushing away the itching in his fingers to grab the air where his rifle usually sits, he focuses on Grogu. 

The boy is sat grabbing snowflakes drifting from above, and it takes Din a moment to realise as such. The helmet obscures most of the sky. 

Without thinking too much, he lifts the kid higher, and grins when Grogu lets out something close to a giggle. 

A woman whose face he vaguely recognises passes with a youthful smile, catching him by surprise, “Cheers to Snow Fall.” 

Din chokes, “Cheers to snow-?”

She passes without another glance and Din hastily lowers Grogu, who puffs out his cheeks when they lock eyes. Din shrugs back, and sets him down on the floor. 

Grogu grabs the snow and starts shovelling the stuff in his mouth, and Din grunts, “Don't eat the mud- The snow isn’t that thick.” 

Like expected, Grogu ignores him. Din sighs. 

He looks upwards, towards the darkening sky, and relaxes when the snow freckles his visor. In the distance, near the campfire, he hears more and more ‘Cheers to Snow Fall’.

——

The cheers and whoops have turned into drunken laughter and booming stories. Omera twirls Winta into a spin as they dance in between embers. 

“You’ve been practising!” She gushes, and Winta laughs wildly. 

Her feet hurt from standing and jumping around, but with a chest warm from beverages and cheer she feels young as ever. 

She locks eyes with Mando’s visor over the fire and bustle of people, and her giddiness only heightens like he’s a fan to flames. 

Winta gestures, and Omera has to duck to her to hear her. 

“You should go see him,” Winta says, and Omera isn’t blind to the twinkle in her gaze. “He seems lonely.” 

That catches Omera by surprise, but Winta’s not exactly fibbing. The man stands alone, leaning against one of the huts with Grogu in his arms. Occasionally, he nods to people passing by, but never indulges in conversation. 

When Omera straightens, Winta’s already running to greet her friends who are immersed in an intense snowball fight- making the most of the one night bedtime doesn’t exist. 

She stands in the middle of her community, just for a moment, plucking up what she suspects is courage. Omera can’t remember the last time she felt such irrational nerves. 

She ducks through the crowd, hands rubbing together until she's stood beside him. Under the faint howl of the wind and snow and the louder chatter of people, she can hear the man whispering to his son.

She smiles, “Enjoying the party?” 

The mandalorian tenses, “Omera.” 

“Babboh.” Grogu says, matter-of-factly.

Omera lets out a short laugh, something close to a giggle, she realises with an acute sense of embarrassment. “May I join you?”

“You don’t have to- I appreciate it,” Mando recovers, then gestures to the scene in front of them, “But we don’t mind, if you’re missing out because of us.” 

Omera waves a hand, “I’m not missing out. Besides, my feet could do with the rest.” 

“You dance well,” Mando says, and stiffens again, surprised by his own words.

“You’ll have to join me next time.” 

Mando makes a sound close to a choked chuckle, and Omeras smile only widens. “Have you ever danced?” 

“Not well, but yes, when I was young.” 

Omeras smile softens. She wasn’t really sure what compelled her to ask a notorious mandalorian if he danced, but she’s glad for the answer.

“I have to see it.”

Grogu lets out a sound, and Mando lifts him higher in the crook of his arm, tipping his head to inspect the child gently. 

He’s wrapped up in more layers than usual, the cloak even wrapping around his ears and head. Impossibly careful, Mando lifts a hand to brush some fallen fabric away from the kid's face. “Maybe one day.” He says softly, then, “I think I’ll put him to bed.”

“Would you like company?” 

——- 

After setting Grogu down in the crib, along with a mass amount of covers and a gentle pat on the back, Din stands straight and looks to Omera. 

Her hair is down, the braids having loosened and dropped into waves throughout the night. Snowflakes still sit, unmelted, on her head and her cheeks are bright from the cold. 

Still, she smiles warmly towards him. 

Din smiles back, under the helmet. 

They step out to let Grogu sleep. They’re walking mindlessly back to the music, but it’s still muffled from where they stand. 

“Would you like a drink or anything?” Omera asks.

Although it’s tempting, Din shakes his head. “I shouldn't.” 

He likes being alert and prepared for pretty much anything, even if Sorgan hasn’t been bothered by raids in months. He flexes his fingers, then promptly slips on some ice. 

He manages to recover, quickly, by himself- despite Omeras hand whipping out to balance him and splay on his chest plate. 

They lock eyes, and then she bursts into laughter- more genuine then he’s ever heard from her before.

The sound is enough to be worth the embarrassment. 

“You don’t need any spotchka in you,” Omera jokes. “You’re clumsy enough.” 

—

An hour later, Din realises he’s drunk. 

He hasn’t had alcohol in months, maybe years, but the spotchka was recommended. Strangers babbling, ‘Have you tried it yet?’ and ‘We brew it right here, the stuff’s fresh’, is more than tempting enough. 

It definitely wasn't Omera, having fun and dancing, and his irregular heart rate that made him pick up a bottle. 

Even though he only had one glass of the stuff (which he travelled to his room to drink, pitifully alone apart from a sleeping Grogu) he recognises the familiar buzz of a drunken man. 

He sighs softly, then rejoins the party. 

——-

He’s halfway through the clearing on his way to meet Omera, when her daughter grabs his arm instead.

He lets out a grunt of surprise and looks down, and Winta looks up at him. “Did Grogu go to bed?” 

“Yes-“ 

Another kid joins her side, “Are you having a good time, Mando?” 

“Yes, I-“ 

“Where’s Grogu?” 

“Sleeping.”

“Have you tried the spotchka?”

“I-“

“Are Mandalorians allowed to get drunk?” 

Din stares down at the suddenly flock of children, and looks around for Omera pleadingly. She’s gone from where he last saw her, and he frowns.

“Ma went that way,” Winta supplies, pointing off and Din feels a rush of gratitude. 

“Thank you,” He says, side stepping away from the group of kids. Two of them are distracted, bickering on how to pronounce ‘mandalorian’.

He steps backwards and straight into someone else. 

“Mando!” He recognises Caben immediately. “How’s it going?” 

The shorter man tries to wrap an arm around Dins shoulders, until the metal shoulder plates and Stoke dragging him off dissuade him. 

“Alright, thank you.” Din ducks his head and goes to move past. 

A woman places a flower in between his chest and the metal coating and chirps a, “Cheers to Snow Fall.” 

Din wonders if it’s normal to feel so overwhelmed after such mundane interactions, he does a full spin, and breaks out from the crowd. 

A wobble reminds him he’s not completely sober, and the thrum of his head is probably a curse. He backs up behind a home and, suddenly, Omera.

“Steady,” She says, reaching a hand out to his chest plate. He leans into it. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I just-“ Din pauses, and glances anywhere but towards her. He doesn’t feel as compelled to lie. “I’m not used to-“ A vague gesture, “This.”

“It’s a lot.” She agrees. 

“Not bad.” Din reassures. “It’s nice.”

She smiles quietly, “Sorry I left- There was a situation.” 

He stands taller, but she waves a hand, “It’s handled, don’t worry.” 

——-

“I’ve never been involved in anything like this,” Mando says. Slowly, like he’s considering the words carefully before he speaks them. 

Omera listens. 

“I’m not the best at it. It’s good, though, for the kid. I want him to not just see- the bad stuff. He’s been through a lot.” 

“You both have,” Omera says, tipping her head. 

They’re currently perched on some decking- somewhat dry with the limited shelter overhead. The party is in front of them- though it’s slowly coming to an end as people retreat inside to sleep and rest. 

Mando entwines his fingers together, looking so still he could be asleep. 

“You do well by him.” Omera places her hand on his knee and pools sincerity into her tone. “Grogu’s lucky to have you in his life.” 

He doesn’t reply, exactly, “How long have you lived here?” 

“Since Winta was young.” She says. “I think she was three months, when we completely settled down.” 

He sounds surprised, “That’s a long time.” 

“I wouldn’t change it for the world.” 

“It’s nice here.” Mando says, and it sounds like agreement. “Everyone here is genuine.” 

“We got lucky,” Omera says, sitting back. “But there’s a lot of good in this universe, as well as bad.” 

At that, the Mandalorian tips his head back to watch the last few Sorgan folk shuffle to their homes and chooses silence. 

——-

The next day, Omera stands swaddled in furs and cloak and stares into the trees. 

Be damned, whoever tries to interrupt the festival whilst Omera stands between them. Stoke and Caben flank her side, looking through mapped out locations with the most frequent attacks. 

She doesn’t expect help from the mandalorian, but isn’t foolish enough to refuse it when offered. 

Mando finds them soon enough, full armour intact and posture loose and ready for a battle. He looks like he did on the day Omera met him, a hound ready to be set loose. 

“The raiders are back?” He asks.

“Not exactly.” Caben says, and Mando tips his head. 

“We think they’re desperate, and we think it’s because there’s something else budging onto the food chain.” 

“Do you know who?” 

“It’s more like a what- we found tracks. Big tracks.”

“Show me.” Mando looks to Caben expectantly, and Omera nods confirmation. 

The two go off, Caben explaining the situation with more details until they disappear completely into the woods. 

Stoke settles back, “What do we do?” 

“We go speak to some raiders.” She replies. 

His eyes widen, “Are you kidding? They’re wild-“

“They’re desperate. They’re probably suffering just as much as we are with whatever’s out there.” 

Omera pushed for confidence in her tone. She stuck her chin up high to meet his gaze. Even if she spoke the truth, she knew it would be difficult to get people to see her way.

The raiders were mostly disbanded individuals who depended on hunting- which was probably being sabotaged just like their farms were. 

“I don’t know.” 

“We have a common enemy. It’s worth a try.” 

“They endangered our lands. The kids, Omera.” 

“I know.” Her voice is firm. She knows that better than anyone. “This won’t be forgiveness.” 

He lets out a thoughtful sigh, then, “Okay. Okay- I trust you.” 

“We try to make an agreement- if they won’t listen, nothings changed. If they do listen, we do this on our terms and it’ll help both parties. They’ll have no reason to raid.” 

Stoke nods, albeit wearily and Omera’s features soften. “It’ll be alright.” 

“I hope so.” 

——-

The mandalorian follows Caben through the trees. 

His hand wraps tight around a spear as they trek through brambles and rocky pathways. Caben hopes he seems content, leading the way. He also hopes the way his shoulders are rigid and his knees clatter together isn’t too obvious.

“Are you- Alright?” Mando asks, and Caben nods.

“Yeah- yeah. I’m okay. Are you okay? Of course you’re okay. Probably. I doubt things like this make you- nervous.” 

The mandalorian scans the tree line slowly. 

“Yeah, no, I didn’t think so but it’d be like rude to presume, so.” 

More silence. 

“We’re almost there,” Caben croaks out and, finally, the mandalorian nods a response. 

Caben finds himself automatically checking his gun is still holstered to his hip, even if his shot is mediocre at best.

“Is that it?” Mando asks, and Caben follows his gaze and swallows. 

“Yup. Have you ever seen anything like it?” 

The track looks like it’s from a scuffle, it’s smeared and dragged but big- one step enough to be compared to a man's chest. 

The mandalorian ducks beside it and brushes his fingertips lightly over the area. Caben steps back to give him space. After inspecting that, he raises his hand to his helmet. There’s a soft click, and a whir, and Caben presumes he’s scanning the area. 

“I think so.” The response is so delayed it takes the farmer a good while to catch up.

“Is it bad news?” 

Mando lets out a long sigh, “It'll be manageable, but not easy.”

The response reminds him of the first time they hired the mandalorian, and his subtlety had been a lot more harsh when he told them staying in the village was impossible. 

“Do you have a plan?” 

He adjusts the spear to his side as he stands up, “I’m working on it.” 

He looks thoughtful, so Caben stays quiet and allows him his own space to think. Instead, he kicks at some dried mud on the floor and does a full spin, and notices it’s gotten awfully quiet. 

Tree branches crack above him. 

“Mando-“ He starts, then sees the man whip out a grappling line that wraps around his waist. Mando tugs, and pulls him out of the way of the angry jaws of a beast. 

The thing drops down from the trees where he just stood and hits the ground with a shriek. The thing reminds Caben of an insect. A huge, disturbing insect. As quickly as it launched, it scrambles back into the shrubs and disappears. 

Cabens chest heaves, and Mando goes forward to pull him up by the shoulders and loosen the wire. “You alright?”

“I think so,” Caben splutters, shrugging the remains off. 

“Good.” Mando reaches to unholster Cabens gun and pushes it into his hands. “Take this. Wait here.” 

“I’m coming with you-“

“No,” Mando growls. “You stay here.” 

He points one last time before spinning to chase after the beast of Sorgan forest, leaving his only backup standing trembling and pale. 

Caben hopes he thought of that plan. 

———

Omera stares at the barrel of a gun, and tries not to sigh. 

“We come to negotiate.” She speaks in their tongue, “Not as an enemy or a friend.” 

“You’re having trouble with it? Sort it yourself.” The Klatooinian sneers. 

There’s only two of them, but they obviously have battle training, tactics and weapons- more than Omera can prepare her own people with in the time frame. 

Stoke stands beside her, unaware of the language they speak but tall and defensive nonetheless. 

“It’s affecting us all,” Omera says, and tries not to sound accusatory. “We combine forces, and less casualties will arise from both our sides.” 

“What do we care for your people?” 

“You don’t. But you obviously care for each other or I doubt you’d work together.” 

The two share a look. 

Omera continues, quieter, “We have a chance if we work together. We have it’s location. Join us or don't- If we fail now, you can handle it alone later.” 

—— 

It’s not hard to track the beast when it flees, given the remains of foliage it tramples over. Din follows close behind, and they’re way too close to the village's border for him to drop the situation. 

The beskar spear rings tight in his hands, held upright and ready. The creature only slows when it reaches close to a clearing; a short cliff has it skidding to a stop. It grapples onto the vines, then twists. 

It’s like it only sees Din, then. Suddenly it’s demeanour shifts into something more predatory.

It’s smooth hackles rise and drool pools from its mouth onto the ground, pincers chattering. Din has to tip his head back to meet its gaze when it rises up and pounces. 

Dins not the best with handling creatures, he’ll admit. They’re unpredictable and hard to read, but so are mandalorians. 

He ducks and drives the spear close to the things underbelly, where there’s less scales to protect it. It lets out a furious shriek and folds. Din lets out a grunt as the pincers lock around his ankle and throws him through the air. 

He hits a tree, and lands with empty lungs. He breathes deep and hard, trying to suck in air that he’d lost, and darts forward to grab his spear. 

He doesn’t make it that far- the creature driving forward and driving down a claw into his chest plate. Din grunts. Not for the first time in his life, he sends a wave of gratitude to beskar armour. 

Getting shoved further into the dirt and brambles. Din struggles to reach for his arm and the Whistling Birds sing. 

The munitions shoot close to the creatures face, chirping and landing true. The beast shrieks once more, still chittering, and Din feels the pressure from his chest shift as it rears up to paw at its face. 

Din rolls away, using the chance to just breathe and focus and grips his spear tighter. He thinks about Grogu and the village- the festival. 

His hands tremble. The creatures already recovered. It swoops down and charges into Din head first. Din grapples onto the thing, struggling to avoid the pincers and adjusts the spear, tries to drive it down when he hears a soft sizzle. 

Venom. Liquid sizzles and boils out of its mouth, hot and lethal. Din kicks, releases the grasp and rolls down its spine to avoid the venom and brings down the spear- driving it deep. 

The thing howls and twists, taking Din down. His head hits the ground hard- and his ears ring. At least he got a shot in, he thinks dully. 

His vision dims and wobbles as he sits up. The creature’s distracted, twisted and trying to pull the spear from its back. Din fumbles for his blade and manages to grasp it and hold it up. He’ll wait for the thing to come to him first. He uses the break to breathe and focus his swimming vision. 

The peace doesn't last. 

Blasts and bullets hit the creature and Dins hand lowers momentarily. Omera, Caben and Stoke are there, blasting from one side whilst two raiders use the distraction to sneak around. 

They bark commands to each other and pounce, tossing grenades that unbalances the creature in its shock. 

Din finds it difficult to maintain balance, but at some point he can’t remember, he stood up. He can see an opening, his spear is still lodged into the thing. 

It’s worth the chance, he decides and drives forward. He clambers onto the things back once again, whilst the raiders avoid the creature's claws. The distraction is good, but it jerks and almost bucks Din straight back off. A hand grips his collar and tugs him back up, and he looks up to see Omera, eyes fiery. 

“Let’s get this over with,” She says, and Din finds some hidden strength in him to balance himself.

He latches onto his spear, just as Omera lifts the scale, and pushes deep. 

And the creature goes down, tips over the short cliff edge that they’d been teetering on the entire time. 

“Mando-“ Omera grunts, grappling into a vine whilst he tugs out the spear. He jumps to reach for her outstretched hand, and quickly finds his own purchase along the brambles. 

It’s instant. The wood goes quiet apart from a sizzle of toxins seeping into the moss from its hanging pincers. 

Din locks eyes with Omera from where they hang, and they climb up together, panting and trembling with excess adrenaline. 

“Are you guys okay?” Stoke calls as he sprints to kneel beside them. 

Omera nods, and grabs Caben’s outstretched hand to pull herself up, “Thank you, Caben.” 

The raiders watch on from a distance, Din notes, whilst he pushes himself up. He can taste sweat and blood and grime under his helmet. 

“-hey, Mando?” 

Din blinks, looks down to Omera looking up at him. Her arm reaches up to his helmet as if it’s not there, “You alright?” 

He looks over his shoulder to the creature's lifeless body. He itches to see Grogu. He nods. “Alright enough. You?” 

“Alright enough.” Omera echoes, a shaky smile etching onto her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you end chapters


End file.
